Lord Voldemort's dear Diary
by HaIareaj
Summary: Since his return in 1994, Voldemort had nobody to talk about his fears and feelings. So he decided to begin this 'dirty muggle notebook'. Almost according to canon. Join the craziest group of fanfic readers, you wont regret it! Or will you?
1. July 30th, 1994 Wormtail

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters; they belong to J. K. R. or Warner, it's the same, I don't get anything but insane enjoyment. (Ha! I wrote this fic only to have the pleasure of writing the disclaimer! No, really, just for my insane enjoyment. Yes, for the enjoyment. Enough of this silliness. Let the magic begin.

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July 30th, 1994.

Dear Diary,

I've decided to begin this Diary, for I have no one to talk about my business. I know that muggles talk with psychiatrists, psychologists and other mad people, but that's not my style. I am not any dirty muggle. All right, I know that also they write in diaries, but none like mine. I've already had a dear diary, in my school days, but I've given it to Lucius for saving. The moment I see that slippery Lucius again, I'll ask it back. Meanwhile, I'll write this silly muggle notebook.

How can it be possible that I, the great Dark Lord, terror of all wizards and witches (except for that damn old man whose name I shall not say), I repeat, how can it be that I have to scribble my memories in a dirty muggle notebook? And I say well scribble, for my little hands don't allow me much more… I could dictate it to Wormtail (honestly, what a stupid nickname) but I don't want him to know about my intimacy. Between Wormtail and the dirty muggle notebook, I choose the muggle notebook. Besides, Wormtail writes with an horrible calligraphy. Not to talk about his orthography. I must get a quick quote quill. Until I have my body back and can write with the elegant calligraphy that an Evil Lord like me must show.

Ah, how can I explain, Diary, the reason for the lack of a normal body…? Frankly, what a stupidity. The inventor of the Avada Kedavra curse should be carved up alive. Infallible, ha! The little brat survived and the curse rebounded. Yes, Diary, you heard it well. It rebounded on me. But, as genious and brilliant a Dark Lord as I am, I managed to survive. I took care about it. I'll tell you about it another day.

However, none of my silly Death Eaters came to my rescue. Had any of them behaved less cowardly, I would not have to wait almost 13 years to become something more than a repulsive fetus. And when all hope was lost, who appeared? Wormtail. Of all my Death Eaters, the most pathetic and good for nothing. The only good he did in his life was giving me the Potters on a silver tray. Why did I keep him, after that? Maybe I'm getting old… I grew fond on him, like with a little pet. Well, he is a little pet.

But enough of this remembering of old times. A new age is approaching, in which I, the great (I don't mean my size, lousy Diary!) Lord Voldemort, will reign over everybody! One more thought about my size and I'll throw you to the fire. Yes, my plan will be perfect. I just wish I had someone better to make it real. Wormtail's only talent is running away to the nearest bar. As if any decent witch would pay attention to him…

Yours, Lord Voldemort.


	2. August 3rd, 1994 The Barties

August 3rd, 1994.

Dear diary,

You will not believe it! A witch talked to Wormtail! And I was complaining about his lack of attractiveness. Perhaps, I should make things clear and say that said witch had lost her mind; someone had hit her with a strong obliviate. This Bertha Jorkings told us that she works for the Ministry. Bad luck, this Wormtail has. Bumping into a british witch when everybody in that island think him dead. The weirdest thing, my dear Diary, is the brilliance which my silly servant showed. He tricked her to me. My first thought was that he'd brought her to… do that.

_ So you think it a good idea to invite a ministry witch into my hiding place, Wormtail?_

_ S-sir, she c-can be us-sef-ul, my Lord…_

_ Ah, does she? And, how is she of use, if you can tell me, my brilliant GOOD FOR NOTHING!!!? BRINGING A MINISTRY EMPLOYEE, WORMTAIL! Are you thinking about opening the Department of Evil Affairs? Crucio!_ (I love this curse, and I love myself for performing it so well)

However, Wormtail's lucky star seems to have returned from her holidays. Bertha Jorkings was actually useful. It seems that the stupid woman visited one day Bartemius Crouch's house (the idiot who sent my most loyal Death Eaters to Azkaban) and found a supposed to be dead man in there. Playing the dead has become the new popular sport in the wizarding world, lately. Ah, my dear Barty Crouch Jr… If I ever had a loyal Death Eater, that was him. With the Lestranges, he was the only one who tried to find me. I think about it and I suddenly find myself full of this weird… feeling. According to Bertha he's not just alive, but also anxious to join me back. His father has him under control with the Imperius curse. Silly man. I'd rather control people with other methods. Yes, I am an irremediable classic.

Well, now I just need to go and find my little Barty. He will help me to retrieve my strength and my old power. Finally I will be able to trust someone with an IQ level superior to that of a rat.

Yours, Lord Voldemort.

August 5, 1994.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday we made it to the Barties' place. Crouch senior was writing some parchments and cursing some Weatherby man under his breath. My little Barty had been wearing an invisibility cloak, under the care of a House elf, until Crouch senior sacked her. Well, what am I complaining about, when a rat-brained man is looking after me? I'd rather keep the elf. Wormtail, showing an unusual ability, cursed Senior and freed Barty from the Imperius.

Wormtail is showing efficiency? The world is coming to an end. Barty wants to cooperate. He will take Alastor Moody's place at Hogwarts and will watch over Potter all the year long. And then he will serve Potter to me on a silver tray. Under you crocked nose, old man!

I'm in a good mood. It is just good luck my current… disability. I'm so happy I could dance. And that is not an Evil Lord style.

Yours and happy, Lord Voldemort.


End file.
